


Intention

by shadowfiend



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 02:42:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11819550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowfiend/pseuds/shadowfiend
Summary: The fel warps what it touches. Kil'jaeden knows this.





	Intention

The worlds the Legion conquered never truly slept. The fallen titan's firm hand guided them all, pushing them to grow and to ever become greater than what they had been before the Legion's fel touch had taken the core of their populations and turned them into more bodies to fuel the fire of their burning crusade. The universe would be theirs and as each world fell to their war machine, the fate of the next became ever more inevitable.

Kil'jaeden turned from the expanse that overlooked their latest conquest. The fel blossom that marked their initial strike force had begun to expand on the oddly colored lands that had thought to resist the Legion's presence. But, no world was truly prepared for the onslaught of a force such as theirs. The Legion had met resistance so many times that turning it into nothing was a simple matter. Formulaic even.

This world had been no different. Their leaders had been subverted, drawn into traps by a few experienced nathrezim. Morale turned quickly sour as the inhabitants lost faith in their leadership and lost hope as more and more ground fell to the Legion's surge.

The final blow would always be the converts willing or unwilling. Nothing would break a people faster than staring down those that had once been their family, friends, or allies. A familiar face turned against oneself was far more effective than a hundred mo'arg. It had broken this world like any other and there was little left to do but integrate it into the dark titan's perpetually expanding arsenal.

With a wave of his hand, Kil'jaeden brought up the star chart once again, sharp eyes flickering over the expanse. Each world was only a small pinpoint on a larger playing field, but he could identify them all. They had each felt his subtle touch in one small way or another. It would have been a matter of pride if so much of it had not been so simple. Each world had learned to bend to the Legion's will. They had all been shaped by his desire. Or, at least, to Sargeras' desire, he had to admit.

Looking over these worlds was a practiced, idle motion. It helped him collect his thoughts and draw upon them for the machinations he still had in the works. There were still so many pieces in play beyond just this small section of the universe, still gears in a grand design that needed to be checked upon. And yet, Kil'jaeden paused.

His hand shifted, drawing a different chart into view. He'd had this drawn up from the archives of Nathreza, an old map with a beautiful planet as its centerpiece. Argus stood stark against the stars that surrounded it, a jewel within the dark void. It was untouched by the dark titan's hand at that point, merely a tantalizing target that had required a different sort of stratagem. How different it looked now that the fel's corrosive touch had shaped it.

The familiar sound of hooves against the dark plated floor drew Kil'jaeden from his musing and he brushed the chart aside with the same idle movement.

"You've been a ghost since we first made landfall," Archimonde forewent any greetings as he stepped into Kil'jaeden's quarters. He stood tall as ever with a stride that spoke of just how well things had gone since Kil'jaeden had seen him last. Conquest suited Archimonde and while little on the ground could possibly have proven a threat to his skill, the act itself seemed to have filled him with energy.

Archimonde trailed a clawed hand along the font near the entrance, eyes fixed on Kil'jaeden. "I'd have thought you'd have more interest in your pet's performance."

Kil'jaeden could hardly help the sneer that came in response to that.

Rakeesh had been a failure as far as he was concerned. A failure he had put far too much effort into.

Certainly, he was powerful. His physical strength was without peer amongst the younger eredar and his tactical capabilities had garnered him enough attention that he'd soon risen in the ranks without Kil'jaeden even smoothing the way for him. His fierce loyalty was without question, as well. Since the day the Inquisition had declared they were finished with him, Rakeesh had committed himself to the Legion with an unflinching passion.

In practice, there was nothing wrong with Rakeesh. He was a perfect specimen of an eredar with only the flaw of being too zealous in his carnage as befit his name, which many would have seen as a strength as well. Archimonde would have taken to Rakeesh even without the curiosity that followed Kil'jaeden's focus on his development, Kil'jaeden was almost certain.

In time, Rakeesh would prove to be a powerful tool to torment Velen with. Seeing his son reveling in the fel and the cruelty he wielded with effortless ease would shake Velen to his core when the time came. A perfect pawn in his endless efforts to punish the prophet for turning away from them. Kil'jaeden was sure of this.

And, yet, Rakeesh displeased him. He had none of the peaceful aura that Velen had projected. Rakeesh lacked the grace and wisdom of his father. For the one piece of Velen that Kil'jaeden had held onto, Rakeesh did nothing to remind him of the lost third of their Triumvirate.

Perhaps it had been a childish fantasy to think that it would be so easy to mold Rakeesh into the destiny that his father fled from, to replace Velen with his son in their seat of power. Kil'jaeden however could not deny that this had been his hope from the day that Talgath had brought the boy to him.

"Interest?" Kil'jaeden brushed aside his sour thoughts and scoffed as he slumped on his chaise longue, "There's no need to watch what was bound to be a slaughter regardless. I can't believe you even bothered to join him on the ground."

Archimonde crossed the room with a bold eagerness, still flush from the fighting below, "Do I need a reason to ensure victory? Or would you rather I join you in drowning in sentimentality instead?"

There it was. The spark that lit in Archimonde's fiercely intelligent eyes was sign enough that he'd taken note of the star chart from before. While his visit might have been in idleness, Archimonde could hardly resist a kink in Kil'jaeden's defenses, a fact Kil'jaeden knew well.

Archimonde was never content with servitude. Neither of them were. From the day they'd knelt to swear themselves into Sargeras' service, they both knew that eventually one of them would aim to surpass the dark titan. And, inevitably, one day one of them would serve the other or be destroyed. Trust and camaraderie had no real place between them while this was a reality.

But, this had always been the case. After all, Archimonde's duplicity had gotten him this far. Kil'jaeden could still remember the near gleeful viciousness with which Archimonde had torn apart his former teacher. He remembered that arrogant grin as Archimonde had explained what he intended to do with Thal'kiel's head.

"Is it sentimentality to reaffirm what must be done?" Kil'jaeden finally intoned, keeping his voice flat and disinterested. "Our brother still remains out there."

Archimonde snorted, slumping on the ground at Kil'jaeden's legs and resting a muscular arm on his thigh with casual disregard. Kil'jaeden could practically hear the other's eyes roll with the sting of derision in his voice, "You're obsessed with that. And for what? He hardly matters at this point."

Kil'jaeden eyed him, idly tracing a clawed finger along the length of Archimonde's arm with a non-committal hum.

"For a prophet, it was laughable. He couldn't see what we could become-- What we have become," Archimonde continued unabated, his voice growing sharp with distaste, "He disrespected the bond between us and the faith our people put in him to lead. And for what? Because he couldn't accept serving a greater power leading our people beyond our planet to truly conquer the stars."

"And he will pay for it," Kil'jaeden finally responded, "For leading our people astray, for abandoning us at the cusp of glory. Is that not reason enough to hunt him down?"

Archimonde turned to face him, resting both arms on his thighs now, a harsh disdain coloring his sharp features, "When the Legion conquers the stars, there will be nowhere to hide for him. There's no need to concern yourself with hunting trash like that."

Archimonde clearly considered further discussion meaningless as he moved to more physical things, brushing a firm hand between Kil'jaeden's thighs. He was practiced in disrobing the little armor that Kil'jaeden wore in his private quarters, making quick work of it to press his lips against Kil'jaeden's soft cock.

The heat of his mouth was a tantalizing distraction as the physicality of their relationship had always been. Kil'jaeden rocked back in his seat to let his hand rest on Archimonde's neck, fel-reddened fingers stroking up along the side to rub against his crest. He sighed, relaxing into the idle contentment that Archimonde's mouth could bring.

And yet, thoughts of their lost third still tugged at the back of his mind. Velen was still out there. Time and time again, Kil'jaeden had set his hounds on Velen's trail only to lose him again. What Archimonde had said was true. There was no need to hurry when worlds upon worlds awaited them, but still...

"Does nothing but scheming get you hard, Deceiver?" Archimonde mocked him, even as the scowl that lined his silver face spoke volumes of the displeasure at Kil'jaeden's limpness.

Kil'jaeden couldn't help but smile at him, "Perhaps you're tired already from today's fighting if you think that what you're doing is enough."

The incitement was clearly sufficient as Archimonde redoubled his efforts, dipping lower to trace his tongue against more sensitive skin. Kil'jaeden's mind wandered again. 

Rakeesh had absolutely been a failure, but the idea was solid enough. When the time came, he intended to do the same to Velen. Perhaps not with the Inquisition, though their work with Rakeesh had certainly done the job well enough. He could not entrust Velen to them like that. He needed this to succeed and if there was even the slightest chance of failing... He would have to do it himself.

He would remake Velen in the fel, mold him into the man he should have become the day that he chose to turn against them instead. Kil'jaeden would take his time and shape him into the true third of their Triumvirate once again. There would be no failure when that time came to pass. Things would return to the way they were always meant to be.

"That's more like it," Archimonde murmured, kissing along Kil'jaeden's swiftly hardening cock and he engulfed it within the wet heat of his mouth, drawing Kil'jaeden firmly back into the realm of the physical. He let out a sigh of contentment, shifting his fingers to share the sensation of pleasure with Archimonde.

For now, though, this was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfiction in ages and certainly never suspected WoW would get me back into it, but that look on Kil'jaeden's face during the Tomb of Sargeras trailer bothered me so much that I dabbled on this on and off since. Drew some inspiration from the lore on Maw of the Damned.


End file.
